


Rain is Wet, Beds Are Soft, and Getting Sick is Not Your Favorite

by Cynthia_Gold



Series: Fluff Ensues [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, POV Second Person, Sharing Clothes, Sickfic, Two Versions, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Gold/pseuds/Cynthia_Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You become mildly ill after returning to your motel room from a rainy hunt with Sam (or Dean! You decide).  Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sam Version

The motel door slapped shut with a weak thud as Sam shut it behind you as he grumbled about his muddy boots and wiped away the hair that seemed to be stuck to his forehead.  You stumbled into the motel room and the light, even through your soggy locks, began to give you a headache.  You staggered into the bathroom and clutched the sink, shivering, and looked at your reflection.  Your face was far more pale than was usual.  You must have spent longer than intended looking at the mirror, because you jumped when Sam gently tugged on your wet shoulder, pulling you around slowly to face him.  You felt the warmth of Sam's hand in contrast with the cold of your, well, everything, and shivered again.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked you, concern shadowing his eyes.  You opened your mouth, about to respond with a sassy remark, but all that came out was a sneeze and another shiver.  Darn your nostrils and your dripping clothes.  Sam laughed softly at this, though his furrowing brow betrayed his worry.  "I'll take that as a no," he responded as you pouted, ever so slightly.  "Let's get you dry and into bed that nice, warm motel bed, okay?"

This, of course, wasn't really a question.  Sam lead you by your shoulder as you took the wobbly walk to the edge of the bed and helped you to sit.  You promptly sneezed again, though this time you felt light headed and for a moment, the room swam.  When the world came back into focus, Sam was shirtless, wearing only his pajama pants, and walking towards you with a towel and some dry clothing in his hands.  He tossed the items onto the bed beside you and helped you out of your soaked jacket and shirt, flinging them in a small pile by the bathroom door.  You sniffed as he worked one of his old t-shirts over your head.  If you were capable of inhaling through your clogged sinuses, you knew you would have smelled him at that time.  You were not, however, and therefore did not.  This disappointed you.

Sam seemed to notice your slight misery and kissed you on the forehead, brushing away a stray droplet of water as he did so.  He then pulled you to your feet and helped you out of your jeans, which were stuck to your legs in a very uncomfortable manner.  You trembled as the cool air hit your damp skin and were relieved when Sam supplied you with your favorite pair of his sweat pants. You smiled despite the growing headache blossoming in your skull. If the case were not that you had the plague, there would have been fewer pants involved in this situation and much more kissing.

You were pulled from your daze when you felt the bed behind you sink and a warm body nestle against your back.  Sam began drying your hair with the towel, slowly massaging your scalp as he did so.  You leaned back into him and sighed, closing your eyes.  The rhythmic feel of the towel, coupled with the soft clothing and Sam's glowing warmth caused your shivers to subside and your headache to lessen. 

You don't remember falling asleep against Sam, or how he lifted you up as gingerly as he could and placed you underneath the warm covers of the bed, not wishing to wake you because you always looked so at peace in your sleep.  Your eyes were closed when he turned out the lights and checked the lock on the door and the knife beneath his pillow.  You didn't remember when he slid into bed beside you and pulled you close to his chest, just to feel you breathe, to feel your pulse, and placed a lingering goodnight kiss on your hair before drifting into sleep himself.

You awoke yourself hours later with a sneeze and a cough.  Your head felt as though someone had poured quick-dry cement into it and your throat fared no better.  You felt Sam shift beside you and grimaced when he flicked the switch on the lamp.  You tugged the sheets over your head to shield your eyes from the glaring light and grumbled protestations into the covers.  You also coughed into them hoarsely.  

You remained a lump on the mattress as Sam's weight disappeared from his side of the bed.  You heard the bathroom light being switched on and the water run, and then heard the water stop and the switch being hit again.  You felt Sam's footsteps through the bed as he made his way over to you, the lump, with a plastic cup of water in one of his hands and a pill in the other.  He placed both of these things on the table next to you and proceeded to poke you.  You flopped over and pulled the sheets tighter over your head, causing the lump to morph more into a ball than a lump.  "Mmph," You said with as much venom as you could possibly produce in your given state.

Sam sighed.  "Come on baby, it's just one pill..."

"Mmmmmph," you whined from within your cocoon.

You did not like pills.

Sam stared at you for a moment before taking the only proper course of action, which was peeling the sheets from your body in one foul tug.  You grumbled angrily and flopped around in a vain attempt to cover back up with absent blankets.  Within just a few moments, you gave up, sat up, and took the pill.  It was bitter, which was sort of poetic, considering your soul was much the same at this moment in time.  Pill consumed, you put your head back on the pillow and looked at Sam, and then at the wadded sheets at your feet, and then back at Sam.  He shook his head and huffed a laugh through his nose, a smile tugging at his sleepy lips as he pulled the blankets back over you, ruffling your hair as he did so.  

Sam replaced himself in the bed and turned out the light before snaking his arms around you again, enveloping you in warmth.  As the drug began to lull you to sleep once more, you mumbled your thanks to Sam and pecked a kiss somewhere on his face.  It was dark.  You couldn't see.  Sam would get the message, you thought to yourself as dreams overtook you.

 


	2. The Dean Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is like the Sam version, only altered to fit Dean!

You closed the door weakly behind you as Dean stomped in the motel room mumbling something about "mud" and "freakin' witches" as he tracked mud, dirt, and water into the room with his drenched clothes and filthy boots.  You stumbled into the motel room and the light, even through your soggy locks, began to give you a headache.  You staggered into the bathroom and clutched the sink, shivering, and looked at your reflection.  Your face was far more pale than was usual.  You must have spent longer than intended looking at the mirror, because you jumped when Dean placed his hand on your back, concern etched into his face as he gazed at your reflection.  You felt the warmth of Dean's hand in contrast with the cold of your, well, everything, and shivered again.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked you, worry clear in his face.  You opened your mouth, about to respond with a sassy remark, but all that came out was a sneeze and another shiver.  Darn your nostrils and your dripping clothes.  Dean smiled sympathetically.  "Guess not," he responded as you pouted, ever so slightly.  "Come on, Sneezy. Time for bed." 

Dean kept his hand firmly on your back to make sure you didn't collapse as you took the wobbly walk to the edge of the bed and helped you to sit.  You promptly sneezed again, though this time you felt light headed and for a moment, the room swam.  When the world came back into focus, Dean, still a mess, was walking towards you with a towel and some dry clothing in his hands.  Had you fallen asleep?  He placed the items carefully onto the bed beside you and helped you out of your soaked jacket and shirt, flinging them in a small pile by the bed.  You sniffed as he worked one of his old t-shirts over your head.  If you were capable of inhaling through your clogged sinuses, you knew you would have smelled him at that time.  You were not, however, and therefore did not.  This disappointed you.

Dean seemed to notice your slight misery and cupped your cheek in his hand, brushing away a stray droplet of water with his thumb as he did so.  He then pulled you to your feet and helped you work yourself out of your jeans, which were stuck to your legs in a very uncomfortable manner.  You trembled as the cool air hit your damp skin and were relieved when Dean supplied you with your favorite pair of his sweat pants. You put on a smile despite the growing headache blossoming in your skull. If the case were not that you had the plague, there would have been fewer pants involved in this situation and much more kissing.

Dean sat you down on the bed and began peeling his own clothing off his rain-swept skin, shaking off dirt and water as he did so.  You lost focus for a moment, and you were pulled from your daze when you felt the bed beside you sink and a warm, dry set of arms pulling you towards the headboard.  Dean positioned you both and began drying your hair with the towel, slowly massaging your scalp as he did so.  You leaned back into him and sighed, closing your eyes.  The rhythmic feel of the towel, coupled with the soft clothing and Dean's glowing warmth caused your shivers to subside and your headache to lessen. 

You don't remember falling asleep against Dean, or how he pulled the covers from underneath you very carefully in order to wrap you both into them, not wishing to wake you because you always looked so at peace in your sleep.  Your eyes were closed when he turned out the lights and checked the lock on the door and the gun beneath his pillow.  You didn't remember when he slid into bed beside you and pulled you close to his chest, just to feel you breathe, to feel your pulse, and placed a lingering goodnight kiss on your forehead before drifting into sleep himself.

You awoke yourself hours later with a sneeze and a cough.  Your head felt as though someone had poured quick-dry cement into it and your throat fared no better.  You felt Dean shift beside you and grimaced when he flicked the switch on the lamp.  You tugged the sheets over your head to shield your eyes from the glaring light and grumbled protestations into the covers.  You also coughed into them hoarsely.  

You remained a lump on the mattress as Dean's weight disappeared from his side of the bed.  You heard the bathroom light being switched on and the water run, and then heard the water stop and the switch being hit again.  You felt Dean's footsteps through the bed as he made his way over to you, the lump, with a plastic cup of water in one of his hands and a pill in the other.  He placed both of these things on the table next to you and proceeded to poke you.  You flopped over and pulled the sheets tighter over your head, causing the lump to morph more into a ball than a lump.  "Mmph," You said with as much venom as you could possibly produce in your given state.

Dean sighed.  "Come on sweetheart, take your medicine."

"Mmmmmph," you whined from within your cocoon.

You did not like pills.

"Don't make me come in there."

Dean stared at you for a moment before taking the only proper course of action, which was peeling the sheets from your body in one foul tug.  You grumbled angrily and flopped around in a vain attempt to cover back up with absent blankets.  Within just a few moments, you gave up, sat up, and took the pill.  It was bitter, which was sort of poetic, considering your soul was much the same at this moment in time.  Pill consumed, you put your head back on the pillow and glared at Dean, and then at the wadded sheets at your feet, and then back at Dean.  He snorted, a wide grin spread across his face as he pulled the blankets back over you, ruffling your hair as he did so.  

Dean replaced himself in the bed and turned out the light before lifting you onto his warm chest and threading a hand through your hair.  As the drug began to lull you to sleep once more, you mumbled your thanks to Dean and pecked a kiss somewhere on his face.  It was dark.  You couldn't see.  Dean would get the message, you thought to yourself as dreams overtook you.

 


End file.
